Ita version here: https://loscrittorevolante.com/2021/05/21/poesiaautostima/
It’s hard job.
For the ones who can’t find love.
In other’s arms,
everything else, falls apart.
Believe in ourselves, everyday,
it’s the hard way.
Instead of fading away,
what more can I say?
I want to do things,
but it’s hard, to do them,
so much to do, so much to understand.
I want to believe in me,
so hard, so stressing,
seems that I’m not free.
Maybe it’s me, who stands still,
I want to fight, that’s my wiill.
But I’m lost in this drill,
It’s hard to feel,
to find the thrill,
what should I kill?
Self-esteem so precous,
I can’t seem to conquer it,
I can hardly smile.
Only if I do certain things,
Some people doesn’t help,
som others are just a pain in the ass.
some people doesn’t seem to want to believe in me.
Some just say what the thinks is right,
But they don’t guide me to the light.
Maybe it’s our’s elder fault,
this fall into the emptiness’ vault.
So we could actually change the world,
our future, but …now, all empty words?
But I think I can improve,
I think there are so many things to see, to prove.
Self esteem, love, is sacrifice,
everyday of my life.